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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183650">background noise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicchio/pseuds/radicchio'>radicchio</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Spies &amp; Secret Agents, Exhibitionism, Hotel Sex, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Uh Oh! I'm In Love With My Coworker!, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism, jeonghan: light of my life, jihoon: known simp, mingyu: bond girl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:13:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,230</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicchio/pseuds/radicchio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no cameras in the rooms. Nobody except Jeonghan and Mingyu. No mistaking what happens next. </p><p>No reason for Jihoon to keep his headset on.</p><p>“Wow. This room is amazing.”</p><p>No reason for Jeonghan to keep his mic on, either.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi/Yoon Jeonghan, Kim Mingyu/Yoon Jeonghan, Lee Jihoon | Woozi/Yoon Jeonghan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>background noise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello everybody........here's a sexy dessert platter for you all.....</p><p>just a quick note: the dubious consent tag is there because mingyu doesn't know jihoon can hear what's happening, and the lines are blurry for everyone, really, so if you want more context you can dm me! also the kink tag is for the knifeplay....dont take advice from yoon jeonghan no matter how nice he seems.......</p><p>that's about it. thank you maya for blowing this way out of proportion and also the <a href="https://open.spotify.com/album/3RP0tRQ51HVC57O8q9jCw2?si=IC7ThMMiR4yrIZyMvHngvw">Gone Girl soundtrack</a> for providing some sexy backing tracks while i wrote and also the title, bc i'm lazy, and it fits.</p><p>enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Jihoon is halfway through breakfast and three quarters through is thirty-second run through of the plan when there’s a groan from the other room.</p><p class="p1">“Coffee’s getting cold,” he calls, keeping his eyes on the screen showing a live feed of five different cameras in the casino.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want coffee.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon snorts. “A cold day in hell.”</p><p class="p1">“Strange, the forecast said blue skies.” Jeonghan appears in the doorway between the bedroom and sitting room wearing a hotel bathrobe and a smirk. He tips his chin at the monitors scattered across the dining table. “How’s it looking?”</p><p class="p1">“The same. They rotate every two hours. I’ve got enough recorded to loop back while you’re inside, but it’ll still be tight.”</p><p class="p1">“Mm, just how I like it,” Jeonghan grins. Jihoon gives him a flat look. “Oh come on, that was a good one.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon turns back to the monitor. It’s too early to start indulging Jeonghan’s warped idea of conversation. They have work to do—he barely slept because he was so busy getting everything set up for tonight. It’s a relatively simple job, but it’s a job nonetheless, and he refuses to give anything less than his best. Not when making a mistake could be the difference between getting Jeonghan out of the hotel in a rumpled tux or a bodybag.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan wanders over to the couch and collapses onto it with a dramatic sigh. The neckline of his robe gapes to show his sternum, the scar along his chest, and he bends a leg at the knee, uncaring of how the robe falls apart to accomodate. They’re safe here, but Jihoon keeps him in his periphery out of habit and a lingering kind of self-sabotage.</p><p class="p1">“Strawberries or blueberries?” Jeonghan asks.</p><p class="p1">“How about some peace and quiet?”</p><p class="p1">A blueberry hits Jihoon in the nose and he yelps. Jeonghan holds his palms up with a grin. “You’re grouchy,” he comments. “Have you slept at all?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine.”</p><p class="p1">“You don’t look fine.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon lets out a measured breath through his nose. “Jeonghan—”</p><p class="p1">“Jihoon,” Jeonghan cuts him off in a mocking voice. “If you fall asleep while I’m inside, we’ll both get killed. Take a fucking nap.”</p><p class="p1">The camera feed loops; the guards swap over nine seconds behind schedule. Jihoon pushes his chair back with a sigh. “Don’t touch anything.”</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan smacks his ass when he passes.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">*</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">The worst part about being attracted to Yoon Jeonghan is that it doesn’t make Jihoon special.</p><p class="p1">Anyone who has ever laid eyes on Jeonghan has probably fallen in love with him, if only for a moment. Considering that it’s Jihoon’s job to keep his eyes on Jeonghan at all times, it makes sense.</p><p class="p1">It doesn’t make it easier. </p><p class="p1">There’s a reason Jeonghan is one of the best agents they have. He works people like instruments. He becomes whatever he needs to be, whatever you want him to be, for as long as it takes him to get information out of you or drive a knife into your chest.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon questions it all the time—the warmth Jeonghan gives him. More often than not it is wrapped in words sharper than the knives Jihoon fits him with, but it exists in quieter moments, too: lingering touches and a creased brow that smooths out into indifference before it can be recognised, before it can be used against him.</p><p class="p1">He wonders how much of it is his own fault, that he is in love with someone who is trained to care only when it gets him something in return.</p><p class="p1">He watches Jeonghan with as much detatchment as he can afford—watches him through pixels and across hotel rooms. Helps keep him alive. It’s a shitty thing to be responsible for. It doesn’t help the lines become any less blurry than they already are.</p><p class="p1">Neither does the way Jeonghan looks at him.</p><p class="p1">Especially when he knows Jihoon is looking back.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">*</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">Jihoon double checks his headset and looks at his watch. “Whenever you’re ready,” he drawls.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t rush me,” Jeonghan calls back from the bathroom.</p><p class="p1">“I need to test the comms.”</p><p class="p1">“Fine.” Jeonghan steps into view and Jihoon does a double take. He’s not wearing any pants, and the hem of his dress shirt is clipped to a black shirt garter that doubles as a thigh holster for one of the knives. Jihoon was the one who suggested it. Clearly, he didn’t think it through—the sight of Jeonghan with dirty-blond hair hanging in his eyes, shirt half undone, hem long enough to cover the edges of his underwear, is making Jihoon’s imagination go haywire.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan looks up from where he’s buttoning his shirt and Jihoon hastily looks back at his computer, clicking randomly. “Earpiece and mic are on the coffee table,” he says.</p><p class="p1">“Aw, no camera?”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon shakes his head. “There’s enough around the casino. I’ll be able to follow you that way.”</p><p class="p1">“Shame,” Jeonghan smirks. He pushes his earpiece in and taps it twice to check the input levels, then he picks up the cufflinks laid out on the table. “These are new. Do they do anything fancy? Set off a bomb? Trip the electricity?”</p><p class="p1">“They link the cuffs of your shirt together,” Jihoon says dryly.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan barks out a suprised laugh. It feels dangerously like a reward. Jihoon hastily tamps down the warmth in his chest because he refuses to develop some sick Pavlovian reaction to the sound.</p><p class="p1">“Help me put them on.” Never a question. “I can never get it right, and this shirt was expensive.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon rolls his eyes but he stands and takes the silver squares out of Jeonghan’s calloused palm. He ignores how close they’re standing because it shouldn’t matter, even though he can feel Jeonghan looking down at his face and not at his wrist. He’s eye level with the freckles on Jeonghan’s collarbone and he can smell the cologne he bought last week in Florence, the mint of his breath when he asks: “Scale of one to ten?”</p><p class="p1">“Four,” Jihoon answers immediately.</p><p class="p1">“Oh? That’s confident.”</p><p class="p1">“They assigned you to this mission because you’re the only agent who can pull it off.”</p><p class="p1">“Why, because I’m willing to let Kim Mingyu fuck me for information?”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon scoffs. “Like it’s any kind of sacrifice.” He’s careful to keep his face neutral because he knows Jeonghan’s games, knows not to let it show when the things he says make his stomach clench. And the idea of Jeonghan getting fucked into the mattress by a handsome, six-foot-something chaebol’s son feels like a swarm of bees in his gut.</p><p class="p1">“True. Why, then?”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon shrugs one shoulder. “Because you’re the best.” Jeonghan’s fingers twitch in his hand, but by the time Jihoon looks up, he has already schooled his expression into something classic and calculated.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon aches for his honesty so much it embarrasses him.</p><p class="p1">He finishes fastening the second cufflink and starts to pull back, but Jeonghan stops him. “You have such nice fingers.” He shifts their hands so his is underneath, thumb resting on Jihoon’s pulse point. “Anyone ever told you that?”</p><p class="p1">“You. Multiple times.” Jihoon snatches his hand back. “Get dressed. We have five minutes.”</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan purses his lips. He likes it when you play along and he likes it when you don’t. He’s impossible to figure out—like an indecisive child, if a child knew how to disarm and kill a man with a teaspoon in under five seconds.</p><p class="p1">He puts his foot up on the couch and fits one of the smaller daggers into the holster. Jihoon doesn’t look away because he shouldn’t have to. Part of him wishes Jeonghan would ask for help with this, too. <em>You have such nice fingers</em>. It’s just a game. Jihoon has already lost if he’s thinking twice about it. But he’d lose ten times over if it meant he could get his hands under the straps around Jeonghan’s thighs, if he could pull at the elastic just enough to make it snap, to leave a mark, to push him down on the cushions and do it again and again until he was red in the face and begging for it. For Jihoon.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan smiles over his shoulder like he can hear everything Jihoon is thinking. Maybe he can. Would it really be so bad?</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">*</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">The moment Jeonghan leaves the hotel room, tuxedo tugged straight and hair swept into place, Jihoon stands up and turns all the lights off. There’s no reason for it besides force of habit. He’s so used to working out of a basement, surrounded by screens and shelves of weapons, it helps him concentrate.</p><p class="p1">The largest monitor is filled with camera feeds. Jihoon leapfrogs between them to follow Jeonghan’s path across the main floor of the casino.</p><p class="p1">“Two o’clock. Brown hair, red suit.”</p><p class="p1">Covered by the loud music and cheers, Jeonghan responds: “I know what he looks like.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon snorts. “Just doing my job.”</p><p class="p1">“Mm, now shut up and let me do mine.” Jeonghan turns like he’s casually surveying the room, but then he looks up at the camera above the bar and winks.</p><p class="p1">“Asshole,” Jihoon mutters.</p><p class="p1">Kim Mingyu is sitting on the edge of a blind spot, but Jeonghan draws him into a better position in less than a minute. This is only step one in a series of extractions. Technically, Jeonghan only needs to get Mingyu drunk enough to make him a little loose-lipped about his travel plans—if they know where he’s going after Macau, it’ll make step two a lot easier. They’re not after him. He’s just a cog in the machine.</p><p class="p1">So Jeonghan doesn’t need to be running his hand up Mingyu’s arm. Doesn’t need to be moving closer and closer to him in the booth. Doesn’t need to drop said hand under the edge of the table and do something with it that makes Mingyu’s head tip back and his eyes squeeze shut.</p><p class="p1">But Yoon Jeonghan doesn’t do things in half measures. That’s why he’s the best.</p><p class="p1">It takes twenty-nine minutes for Mingyu to leave the casino with Jeonghan walking three steps behind him, hands in his pocket and a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon’s fingers fly along the keyboard as they exit the casino and trace back to the main hotel. “Can you lose the bodyguard?”</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan shakes his head minutely.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck.” It was a probability—Mingyu is valuable enough to require protection—Jihoon just didn’t think they’d follow him all the way back to his room. No use in fabricating security footage if there are eyewitnesses to contest it. “Move into first contingency. Everything’s on tape. Too many eyes.”</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan tugs his earlobe to show he’s heard, face carefully turned away from the camera. They’re waiting in front of the elevator now. Mingyu has started talking again and Jihoon tunes it out, focused on monitoring whether or not anyone is looking twice at Jeonghan. It’s a difficult distinction to make—a beautiful boy in a tuxedo tends to turn heads, secret intelligence agent or not.</p><p class="p1">Once they’re in the elevator, the variables go from eighty-five to three, and Jihoon relaxes slightly. He pulls up the hotel directory. “He’s in a deluxe suite. Ten floors above ours. North facing.” The main screen flickers and refreshes. Jihoon zooms in on one of the cameras. “Another bodyguard. Six civilians.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh really?” Jeonghan is saying to Mingyu. “That’s incredible, I’ve always wanted to go to Europe.”</p><p class="p1">“I could take you,” Mingyu says excitedly. Jihoon can’t tell if he’s drunk or genuine. Either way—it’s a perfect window.</p><p class="p1">“No way,” Jeonghan shoves at his chest and Mingyu sways back slightly before tugging Jeonghan’s wrist to bring their bodies closer together. His next words are louder in Jihoon’s ear.</p><p class="p1">“What are you doing tomorrow night?”</p><p class="p1">The elevator opens to his floor and Mingyu walks backwards to keep his eyes on Jeonghan, keeps their hands linked. Jihoon loses sight of them for a second, trying to find the right camera as they walk to the room.</p><p class="p1">“That depends on what you’re going to say next,” Jeonghan says.</p><p class="p1">Mingyu pauses in front of the door to his suite. “How about dinner in Berlin?”</p><p class="p1">Jackpot.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon laughs in disbelief. They prepped for this phase of the mission all week. It was meant to take the whole night, yet Jeonghan has dismantled one of their richest targets in less than one hour, and he’s done it with all of his clothes on. Jihoon can’t help but be impressed. Kim Mingyu must either be incredibly stupid or horny or he just doesn’t give a shit about his father. All of the above? Whatever. Jihoon is ready to tell Jeonghan that they’ve got enough to work with and that he can fall back, but then he hears the ringing <em>beep </em>of Mingyu’s room card and the sounds of the other guests milling around the corridor falls away.</p><p class="p1">There are no cameras in the rooms.</p><p class="p1">Nobody except Jeonghan and Mingyu. No mistaking what happens next.</p><p class="p1">No reason for Jihoon to keep his headset on.</p><p class="p1">“Wow. This room is amazing.”</p><p class="p1">No reason for Jeonghan to keep his mic on, either.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, I get it every time I’m here. I love the view. Do you want some more champagne?”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon’s heartrate picks up, his palms prickle with sweat. Their job requires Jihoon to listen in to a lot of conversations that he otherwise might not want, or be allowed to. But it’s just business. Listening to Jeonghan talk his way under a woman’s dress is about as normal as hearing him take a punch or shooting a bullet between a man’s eyes. He’s never had to listen to what comes afterwards, though, because Jeonghan always whispers a quick “Bye honey” and then shuts off his mic before turning up at the hotel room a few hours or days later with flushed cheeks and valuable information.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan starts kissing Mingyu, and he’s not shy about it. The sound gives Jihoon goosebumps. He looks over his shoulder like someone will materialise there to reprimand him for listening, but there’s nothing but darkness. Nothing but—</p><p class="p1">“Hng, <em>fuck</em>.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon exhales sharply and immediately fumbles to mute himself, knocking his phone off the table in his haste.</p><p class="p1">He holds his breath, heart racing, waiting for Jeonghan to excuse himself, to go to the bathroom and rip into Jihoon for listening—<em>were you enjoying the show, were you picturing me, don’t you wish you were here, I’ve seen how you look at me—</em>for him to shut off his mic and leave Jihoon in the silent, guilt-ridden dark of their hotel room, only to come back and laugh at him later.</p><p class="p1">But nothing happens. Mingyu breaks the kiss to tell Jeonghan how gorgeous he is, how he can’t wait to fuck him, and then it’s back to hurried kisses punctured with whines. The sounds of their lips catching and releasing floods Jihoon’s senses, sends blood rushing south. Already. <em>Already. </em>He shouldn’t be doing this. He should— </p><p class="p1">“Take these off,” Jeonghan says, and Jihoon puts his head in his hands and bites off a whine. Jeonghan laughs, a little sweet, a little mean. “Eager already? You like being told what to do?”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon mutters a broken, “Shit”, and Mingyu laughs around a, “Yeah. Think so.” Someone’s belt buckle clatters and then it’s Jeonghan’s turn to sound affected. He groans into Mingyu’s mouth. Kisses part of his skin. Says something that will haunt Jihoon for months.</p><p class="p1">“I want to sit on your dick, and I want you to hold me there and fuck me until I tell you to stop.”</p><p class="p1">He says it sweetly, like, <em>Why don’t you ever laugh at my jokes, Jihoonie, </em>like, <em>You’re blushing, </em>like, <em>Nice job, </em>and whatever self control Jihoon was pretending to have left snaps. He silently apologises to whatever god there is, turns up the volume, and unties the knot of his sweatpants.</p><p class="p1">He’s watched Jeonghan kill people. On tape and in person. In the grand scheme of things, listening to him fuck another man and getting off to it is far from the worst experience they’ll share together, but somehow it feels like the most illicit.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon wraps a hand around himself under his briefs and squeezes when he hears the unmistakeable beginnings of a blowjob. It’s close to the mic. It’s wet and messy and drawn out, and Jihoon wouldn’t say no to the visual of Jeonghan on his knees with a dick in his mouth, but the sound of it is already enough to build a perfect picture. He’s spent hours staring at those lips, imagining how they’d look stretched out and spit-slick, how his hair might fall in his eyes, how Jihoon would need to push it back with his fingers. How Jeonghan would moan like he’s doing now, mouth full, maybe with his eyes closed, maybe with his lips sliding down to mouth at Mingyu’s balls, to leave a mark over his hipbone, to remember him by.</p><p class="p1">“God your mouth—feels so, <em>ah</em>—”</p><p class="p1">A sharp slap of skin on skin; Mingyu yelps.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t touch my hair,” says Jeonghan, and Jihoon almost laughs—it’s so predictable for Jeonghan to need to remain in control even when he’s on his knees. He expects Mingyu to bite back, to push a little, but he only makes a choked off sound and lets Jeonghan go back to swalloing down his dick.</p><p class="p1">Mingyu is… loud.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon would be distracted or even annoyed if it were anyone else, hyperfocused as he is on Jeonghan, but he’s seen what Mingyu looks like. He’s not blind. And he does have a type. Jihoon expected him to either be silent or grunting like a caveman but he’s both thrown off and horrifically turned on by Mingyu’s high pitched, breathy whines, the way he can’t stop talking, even when Jeonghan tries to get him to shut up. He’s whimpering like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, like he’s the one on his knees getting his face fucked. What a sight that would be.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon finally wraps his hand around his dick with a sigh, head tipped against the back of the chair. His underwear is already sticky with precome; if he doesn’t pace himself, there’s no way he’ll last, and he doesn’t know when he’ll get a chance like this again, fucked up as this one is.</p><p class="p1">“Get your clothes off and get on the bed,” says Jeonghan, and the way his voice croaks makes Jihoon grunt and fuck his hips up. He works himself slowly as the others shed their clothes, closing his eyes to imagine Jeonghan pulling at the buttons of his shirt, his pants, dropping them to reveal the straps of his garter again. Maybe he’s hard, now. Maybe his skin is flushed, his hair starting to fall out of place. Maybe he—</p><p class="p1">“What’s that?” Mingyu breathes.</p><p class="p1">“It’s a knife. What does it look like?”</p><p class="p1">Shit, the holster. Jihoon completely forgot.</p><p class="p1">“Why do you have—”</p><p class="p1">“Not all of us have a personal team of bodyguards, Mingyu-ssi. Why? Does it bother you?”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon holds his breath, waiting for Mingyu’s response—it’s a risk to be armed around him and a bigger risk to reveal it. Mingyu could run outside, could turn this upside down, turn it ugly—but then Jeonghan starts <em>laughing</em>.</p><p class="p1">“What,” Mingyu says, petulant, close to the mic.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan hums. “It’s always the same with boys like you. Rich. Pretty. What is it, hm? Daddy doesn’t give you enough freedom? You grew up surrounded by big, scary security guards who never let anyone look at you the wrong way, so you never really had to be afraid of anything and now, what, you’re sick of it? Want to feel a little threatened for once?”</p><p class="p1">Mingyu’s silence is an answer in itself; Jihoon feels like he’s been punched in the gut.</p><p class="p1">“Alright. We can play,” Jeonghan whispers, honey sweet and dangerous, “but first I need you to put those gorgeous hands to good use, hm?”</p><p class="p1">It’s been manageable, up to this point. Jihoon has been letting his imagination fill in the gaps between the sounds. But up to this point, most of the sounds have been coming from Mingyu.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan getting stretched open by two of Mingyu’s fingers and then his tongue makes Jihoon feel like he’s going insane. Jeonghan keeps making these choked off noises that Jihoon echoes, hand pumping his dick, body sliding halfway out of the chair, socks slipping against the carpet. After a few minutes he mutters, “Fuck it” and moves to the bedroom, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hand held awkwardly out to the side.</p><p class="p1">He’s not proud of the way he hesitates before choosing which bed to lay in. He’s far less proud of the way he chooses Jeonghan’s.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck, Mingyu—ah, <em>ah, ah, </em>I’m gonna—hnng, slow down—”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon turns halfway onto his stomach, face in the pillow, and gets his hand on his dick, wet enough now that the slide makes his toes curl.</p><p class="p1">“Can I add another?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, yes.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon moans; over the rustle of the sheets he can hear the sound of Mingyu’s fingers fucking in and out of Jeonghan at an erratic pace, can hear the wet noises of suction as Mingyu no doubt sucks marks into the soft skin of Jeonghan’s inner thighs. God he wants that. He wants to see it, to do it himself. Wants Mingyu to do it to him, too. Wants Jeonghan to watch.</p><p class="p1">“Mingyu you have to fuck me now or I’m going to come.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright.” Mingyu speeds up.</p><p class="p1">“No what did I s-<em>say, shit</em>, oh my god.”</p><p class="p1">“Come on my fingers, then I’ll let you ride me.”</p><p class="p1">“Chivalrous.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon sucks his teeth. “Just do it,” he mutters, muscles straining from the effort it’s taking not to come, and Jeonghan’s breath hitches; Mingyu’s fingers must’ve hit a sweet spot.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah?” asks Mingyu, then he does something that makes Jeonghan shout out, voice cracking in the middle.</p><p class="p1">“Oh my god,” Jihoon breathes. He takes his hand off his dick and buries his face in the pillow, hips rolling against the mattress as he listens to Jeonghan’s voice rise and rise and rise until it fractures and he’s coming, and Jihoon deserves some kind of medal for not following right after.</p><p class="p1">“Off. Mingyu, off,” Jeonghan hisses.</p><p class="p1">There’s a wet <em>pop</em> and Mingyu says, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”</p><p class="p1">“I like you better with your mouth full,” Jeonghan mumbles, trying for petulant but missing it so spectactularly that Jihoon smiles into the pillow. “On your back. It’s my turn.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon moves onto his back.</p><p class="p1">He almost forgot about the knife. Almost.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t ask me to cut you because I won’t,” Jeonghan says.</p><p class="p1">“I wasn’t…”</p><p class="p1">“Oh I think you were, sweetheart, but that’s not really my thing.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon scoffs.</p><p class="p1">“Alright,” continues Jeonghan, voice hardening, “Pinch me if it’s too much. Or use your words like a big boy. Can you do that?” A pause. “Uh-uh, try again.”</p><p class="p1">“I can do that,” Mingyu says, strained. Jihoon clenches the sheets in his hands; he desperately wants to know what Jeonghan is doing.</p><p class="p1">“Good.”</p><p class="p1">They both let out a choked out sound at the same time, Mingyu louder than Jeonghan, and Jihoon closes his eyes again to imagine Jeonghan, knees either side of Mingyu’s hips, sinking down inch by inch onto his cock, mouth open, dagger loose in one hand and fingers digging into Mingyu’s chest with the other. It’s not something he considered much himself—being under Jeonghan, hips pressed flush together, metal running cool and sharp down his arm with a light touch and the hint of a threat. He always believed that giving himself up to Jeonghan like that would be dangerous enough. Adding real weapons to the mix seems sort of arbitrary.</p><p class="p1">But Mingyu.</p><p class="p1">“Unh, feels so good, shit, shit—<em>hyung</em>—”</p><p class="p1">“A little familiar, don’t you think?” Jeonghan says, breathless but sharp. Jihoon hears the slap of skin on skin; Mingyu’s voice cracks. “C’mon. Don’t make me do all the work.”</p><p class="p1">Mingyu sets a fast pace and Jeonghan keeps it.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon kicks his sweatpants off entirely, skin prickling with sweat and the need to spread himself out on the bed, on Jeonghan’s bed. He gets a tight grip around his dick and tries to move at the same time, fucking up into his hand everytime he hears Jeonghan gasp, hears their hips meeting.</p><p class="p1">It’s almost like Jeonghan is on top of him, like this—he’s missing the weight and the feel of him, those beautiful thighs spread out on either side of Jihoon’s waist, the view of Jeonghan from below, head tossed back, hair stuck to his forehead, smile cracked sideways like it always is. But the sound of him, his punched out <em>ah-ah-ah</em>’s working in time with the way Mingyu is pistoning his dick in and out of him, relentless—it’s right in Jihoon’s ear. It’s everywhere. He’s started moaning, too, and he doesn’t hold himself back because it feels too good, and why should he have to? There’s no-one around to hear it.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan is quick, but he’s not as strong; Jihoon could flip them easily, trap him against the mattress, could have their hips rolling together, shoving the bed against the wall, kissing bruises into the angles of Jeonghan’s collarbones. He’d be so good to him. He’d let Jeonghan fight back just enough to make him think he’s in control and then he’d rip it away from him, push their mouths together, swallow down all of his sounds like they were made of honey.</p><p class="p1">“Are you close?” Jeonghan breathes in between messy kisses.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon whines in response. <em>Yes, </em>he thinks, head thrown back in the pillows, breath coming in fast, “Yes,” he breathes, “Shit. I’m really close.”</p><p class="p1">Mingyu’s whining reaches its peak. “Almost. Hy—Jeonghan, please—”</p><p class="p1">“Please what, baby.”</p><p class="p1">“Th-the knife, <em>fuck,</em> please, please, plea—” His voice turns muffled. Like Jeonghan has pressed a palm over his mouth. Jihoon doesn’t overthink it; he mirrors the movement. His breathing comes in quicker, restricted to just his nose, and his other hand speeds up.</p><p class="p1">“This what you want?” Jeonghan pants. <em>Yes. </em>Jihoon moans into his hand. “Hands above your head, Mingyu. That’s it. God, you look so good like this.” He speeds up again, the backs of his thighs slapping obscenely against Mingyu’s hips, making him groan, long and drawn out against Jeonghan’s palm. “Careful, baby. One wrong move—”</p><p class="p1">Mingyu makes a noise that sounds less desperate and more surprised.</p><p class="p1">“Oops,” Jeonghan says, not sounding sorry in the slightest.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon hates how frantic it makes him feel, how Jeonghan, causing harm and doing it with a smirk, will never fail to make him feel lit up from the inside.</p><p class="p1">Mingyu comes with a muffled shout and Jeonghan hiccups at the sensation. The knife clatters somewhere on the floor, and then they’re kissing again, and Jihoon has been dancing back and forth along the edge for way too long now, it’s any moment, it’s flaring in his gut like a warning signal, but he wants to wait for Jeonghan. He wants to hear it.</p><p class="p1">“Can you keep going? I’m close,” Jeonghan gasps, smearing his mouth along Mingyu’s skin, desperate. Mingyu answers him by shifting their positions and fucking into Jeonghan hard enough to make him shout, voice wavering with the way his body is being forced into the mattress, and god, Jihoon can’t hold on any longer. His voice shoots up an octave and he whines through his teeth as he comes, half on his stomach and half on his shirt where it’s rucked up around his chest.</p><p class="p1">He’s still fucking himself through the aftershocks when Jeonghan comes with a gutteral groan that makes Jihoon wish he was smart and sick enough to have pressed record on the computer before they started. He works the tip of his dick until it’s sensitive enough to hurt, still riding the euphoria of everything he’s heard in the past hour. The guilt will come later. For now, Jihoon wants to bask in this: eyes closed, breath heavy, imagining he’s not alone in this hotel bed. Imagining what Jeonghan will say when he comes back, if he comes back, if he sees how the sheets have been pulled out of place at the corners, if he will see through Jihoon’s lies about leaving his computer as soon as he lost sight of Jeonghan, if he’ll make a comment.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon both wants him to and doesn’t. Any sort of admission can and would be used against him. Jeonghan terrorises him enough without the knowledge that he gets off to the thought of fucking him, getting fucked by him, pressing their mouths and their bodies together and basking in each other in the high that comes after a successful mission. The only positive outcome might be that Jeonghan would actually agree to it. Even then, Jihoon isn’t sure if it would be a good thing after all.</p><p class="p1">It would create a fissure between them. If not at first, then eventually. It’s safe to know each other’s bodies from a distance. Always safer, with distance—with a computer screen between them. Jihoon sits up and runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. It’s embarrassing to be so affected, but he’s been pushing back against it for so long that the fight seems futile, now.</p><p class="p1">He is lost in his thoughts for so long that he doesn’t realise that Jeonghan’s mic has been shut off. He tears the headset off and throws it somewhere in the sheets, then he strips off and takes a shower in silence.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">*</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">Jeonghan comes back just before sunrise.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon wakes up when he hears him walk through the door, but he stays facing the wall. He doesn’t hear Jeonghan’s footsteps on the plush carpet; he flinches when his mattress dips on the opposite side.</p><p class="p1">“What are you doing?” he asks, turning onto his back.</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan crawls on top of the covers and lies on his side, staring at Jihoon. “Debriefing,” he says.</p><p class="p1">Jihoon can smell Mingyu on him. Can see the way his hair is parted too far to the right. He wills his face to stay neutral. “We can do that in the morning.”</p><p class="p1">“Or we could do it now.”</p><p class="p1">“The morning, Jeonghan. Let me sleep.”</p><p class="p1">“What, no <em>congratulations</em>?” Jeonghan pouts, poking Jihoon’s cheek. “No <em>great job, Jeonghan, you’re the best</em>?”</p><p class="p1">“If I say that will you leave me alone?”</p><p class="p1">“Only if you mean it.”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon sighs, turns his head to look Jeonghan in the eyes, ignorning the way his heart is racing. “Great job, Jeonghan. You’re the best.”</p><p class="p1">Jeonghan watches him in the muted darkness of the room. His eyes move back and forth between Jihoon’s—looking. Always looking, always taking, always asking for more. Greedy little thing. Jihoon would do anything he ever wanted.</p><p class="p1">“Alright. I accept.” Jeonghan rolls off the mattress and Jihoon lets out the breath caught in his chest like it’s made of glass. Maybe he didn’t give himself away, after all.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, by the way—” Jeonghan pauses in the doorway of the bathroom, backlit like a storm “—we should test out the comms in the morning, the volume levels were all out of whack.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh?” Jihoon says, heart in his throat.</p><p class="p1">“Mm.” Jeonghan smiles and pushes off the edge of the doorway. “You just sounded <em>really close.</em>”</p><p class="p1">Jihoon opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.</p><p class="p1">“Goodnight, Jihoonie!”</p>
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